


The Danse Macabre

by Randal



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Might become a series, More about original character, NOT Johnlock, Post-Reichenbach, loss of family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 11:32:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4390217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randal/pseuds/Randal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been two years since the fall when John walked into the flat to find Mycroft sat in Sherlock's chair. The last time Mycroft had stepped foot in that flat was the week after the fall, to handle Sherlock's will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Danse Macabre

It had been two years since the fall when John walked into the flat to find Mycroft sat in Sherlock's chair. The last time Mycroft had stepped foot in that flat was the week after the fall, to handle Sherlock's will. Everything had been left to John, along with a sizeable amount of money to cover his side of the rent for three years. It was difficult to stay in the flat and slowly, he'd stopped caring. He'd hoped that the person in the flat was a burglar who would shoot him for interrupting, but no such luck.  
However what John didn't expect was the thin girl stood next to him. They were talking, the girls hands flailing around and, much to John's surprise, Mycroft was smiling at her. It was the most genuine smile to have ever graced his face and it made him look years younger. From what he could tell, the two were so engrossed in their conversation that they hadn't even noticed him enter his own flat. That was until the girl diverted Mycroft's eyes to him.

'Ah, John. It's good to see you.' John knew it was a lie, saw the judgement in Mycroft's eyes at the way the jumpers hung limply from his withering frame. Was it judgement?

'Do sit down John, I have favour to ask of you.' John momentarily paused before sitting in his chair, now moved away to the window. Mycroft waited for him to settle before restarting.

'John. I need you're help.' That drew John's attention from the window. 'This young lady is Alice, she's been put under protective custody by the state. There is nowhere better than here, with you.' John opened his mouth to protest. 'No! John, please don't turn her away. She...'

'When was the last time you ate?' The quiet voice threw John for a moment. He turned his attention to the girl now stood in the middle of the room, eyes squarely on John.

'Please Dr. Watson, when did you last eat? In a state of grieving you must maintain your strength, emotions are exhausting on a good day this definitely isn't a good day.' She stood tall, hands behind her back. She strangely resembled Sherlock in the way she rattled off the facts, but was softer in her voice. It stung a little. Her eyes still stared at him, a small encouraging smile stretched across her lips.

'Two days ago I think.' He looked away in shame. He didn't know why, she was in his home and only a teenager, he was in charge. 

'Thank you Mr Holmes, but please can you give the doctor a moment while I find something for him to eat.' She twirled off to the kitchen, her long hair reminiscent of the long coat-  
John squeezed his eyes shut and dug the heels of his palms into them. He could feel Mycroft's gaze on him.  
He didn't move until a small hand tugged at my elbow gently, placing a plate on my thighs and a mug on the table. There was a single slice of toast with a thick spread of strawberry jam. It tasted like mediocre at best but he struggled to finish it. The tea on the other hand was perfect, a dark beige colour with no sugar and just hot enough to make his tongue tingle. He felt his shoulders relax as his other hand came up to caress the side of the mug. Alice gave Mycroft a look to carry on.

'John. Have you thought about it?' His eyes were wide and imploring, open and pleading. John nodded once.

'She can stay.' He whispered into the mug.

'Thank you.' He rested a hand on her shoulder before moving to exit. 

'Mycroft!' He froze, not expecting the raised voice. 'Why am I the best for her?' He tilted his head towards the figure by the window, possibly the most animated he'd looked in years. He spun so he could look him in the eye when he said it.

'You need help John. And she needs to help someone. She's alone and so are you.' It was enough to stop him from asking anything else. And with that the taller man left the flat. 

-

It didn't take while for the two inhabitants to reach harmony. Alice made sure that John ate, slowly increasing the portions until he was eating like a grown man. He slowly can back to the world. Two months after cohabiting, John started to talk properly. Alice was the quiet type, a silent but reassuring presence in the flat and as much as he was loathed to say it, Mycroft was right. Alice was exactly what he needed to get out of his head. It was an odd role reversal from what it used to be like, with Sherlock being the one who talked into the room with John there to absorb it.

'Thank you.' John walked into the kitchen. Alice looks up from the book she was reading, the cover insured by her hand. She gave him a puzzled look.

'What for?' He took a moment to look at her, documenting her in a way that would've made Sherlock proud. She was skinnier than was healthy, with her collarbones sticking out from the top of her collar, but her eyes shone from behind her glasses with dark shadows framing the dark brown eyes. Her back was straight and she was sat cross-legged on the countertop with the massive textbook balanced in her lap. Her clothes were that of a typical teenager, black skinny jeans with an overshirt and a band t-shirt he didn't recognise. Overall she looked at home, relaxed, something he'd realised was new over the past month. She continued looking at him allowing him to answer in his own time.

'For helping. You had no reason to. You could've just left me to either away, I'm sure Mycroft would've paid the rent for you, and Mrs Hudson absolutely adores you so you wouldn't have ha any issues. But you decided to help. Me. Get back on my feet.' He hoped it was enough. It didn't seem like it, what she'd done went above and beyond the call of a teenager or a flat mate for that matter. She smiled all toothy and proud. 

'Of course I was going to help. Needed someone who knew how to pay bills.' She giggled a bit, her sarcasm bringing a much missed smile onto John's face. John moved to make two cups of tea and brought one over to Alice. He looked over the book, recognising it as one of his medical textbooks, suddenly noticing a second book to her left, this time a chemistry one. 

'The chemistry behind proteins is fascinating, it really is. The university didn't give me a chance to cross reference any of the information with medical journals. Didn't want the chemistry to become corrupt.' She made air quotes around the word corrupt. She looked between the two books again, making a quick note in the chemistry book before shutting them both and tucking them in the corner. It took John a moment to absorb the information properly.

'Wait how old are you Alice?'

'I'm seventeen.'

'But you said university.'

'Yeah I got early entrance at fifteen and finished the four year course at Oxford about eight months ago. My godfather taught me most of the chemistry course so I only did the third and fourth year and finished as top of the year.' She sipped her tea nonchalantly and he realised how little he actually knew about the girl in his care. It had been six months and he had no idea why she was here, didn't know about family or anything in her past. She glanced down at him from her spot on the side and shook her head, deterring any other questions.

'I'll tell you later. I promise.' And with that she effortlessly hopped onto the floor a d glided down the stairs to visit Mrs Hudson.

-

There were heavy feet colliding with the stairs as John woke for he slumber. It had been a week and Alice had decided to keep Mrs Hudson company since the reveal. He knew that it obviously wasn't the minuscule teen that lived with who moved do quietly it's like she phased into the room. He sprung up just as the door swung open to reveal a huge tattooed man.

'Where is she?' He had a heavy Russian accent. John stood his ground and remained silent as the oaf lunged at him, knocking him straight on the floor, winding him. After his depression he hasn't thought it important to regain the muscle the army and two years of chasing criminals had given him.he struggled helplessly as a giant hand clutched his throat.

'If I kill you she'll come to us. You shouldn't have let her care.' He increased the pressure, black tinting the edges of John's vision. Just as everything was vanishing from world around him there was grunt of pain. The hand released his throat as both bodies crumpled to the floor.

'John! John!' A quiet voice with such urgency. Or we're they shouting, he could tell. He passed out with a gentle touch inspecting the obvious bruises on his neck.

-

Alice dropped the hammer to the floor, thick blood coating the head. 

'John! John!' She grasped his wrist to check for a pulse, it was weak but persistent. Next she inspect his neck, intact but badly bruised. She moved to the Russian, checked his pulse. There was nothing. Releasing a steady breath she pulled her phone out and dialled. One ring and then she was through.

'Mycroft, get to 221B now!' She wasn't shouting but her voice was harder than normal.

'He's back.' Was the only reply.

'Good bring him too! And an ambulance. John's been strangled and a man's dead.' 

'I'll be right over. Alice! Stay where you are.' She hung up and slipped the phone into her pocket again.

'Its ok John, they'll be here soon and you'll have your family back. You won't need me.' She marched out of the flat.

-

It was a long walk to the warehouse, especially with all the alleys Alice had to take to avoid the surveillance Mycroft had ordered to follow her.  
Half an hour later she was standing across the street, John's handgun clutched at her side. She watched the four guards at the door, counting their steps as they shuffled around.

One, two, three, four... One drops dead.

One, two, three, four... Another one down.  
Then another.  
And finally the last one crumpled onto the ground. Alice stepped over the body and through the squeaking door. She was grabbed and gagged, but had expected it, putting up no resistance.  
She was tied to a chair and the gagged removed. There were only four of them, all burly Russians chattering away.

'If I'm going to be tied up please give me the curtesy of having your attention.' She said coolly in a perfect Russian accent. Their eyes snapped to her. 'Much better.' She relaxed back and discreetly tested the ropes. There was a little give. 

'Looks like she actually want to talk this time.' 

'Hmmm nope if my family can't make me talk what can? There's no one left.' He rose an eyebrow.

'This is true. But if we get rid of you then there's no threat.' He drew a blade. 'But first we're going to have a little fun.' He pulled it down her forearm, blood pouring from the opening. He moved to her other arm, mirroring his previous action. His eyes remained on her face, disappointed by the lack of reaction.

'Look at this boys. She's a tough one. This will be fun!' He an the others kept cutting and cutting and cutting, down her arms, her stomach, and back. She refused to show the pain, refused to give them the satisfaction. Many of the wounds were superficial, there wasn't enough blood loss to cause her to pass out. She pushed through the pain, focusing on the ropes at her hands.  
They'd moved to her legs at the point when the ropes slipped off her wrists. She thrust her legs forward, kicking the two in the stomach, grabbing their knives. She slit their throats and pulled John's gun from their waistband. It was heavier than before, the blood loss finally taking its toll on her body.  
The other two lunged at her and she fired two shots in quick succession followed by the satisfying sound of two bodies crashing onto the floor. The door behind her squeaked and she spun to see Mycroft walk in, umbrella in hand, a look of concern on his face as he looked over Alice.

'John?'

'In hospital with Sherlock.' A small smile broke over her face, now covered in blood from the cut above her eye. Mycroft strolled over and caught her as she collapsed. 

-

When she first woke properly it was to the stark white of the hospital room, Mycroft stood by the window. 

'My dear, you ought to be more careful.' She chuckled and gasped because of the pain.

'Doesn't really matter now does it? They're all gone now. There's no one after me.' He voice was raspy and it hurt to talk but she needed the confirmation.

'Yes. Fifteen dead, all under mysterious circumstances. There's no enquiry into the deaths, parliament is more happy to have the Russians off the street.' There was a loud noise from outside. 'I do believe that is John. He very much wants to see you.'

'Sherlock?'

'He's no doubt with John. But no he doesn't know about you or your family.' She sunk into the pillow, not knowing if she's relieved or scared at the prospect.

'Now John please sit down you were attacked not two hours ago.' Sherlock's voice bounced off the walls, his concern palpable.

'I'll let them in.' Mycroft pushed off the wall and out the door. Not a minute later John was at her bedside, closely followed by the tall and very much alive Sherlock Holmes. Johns neck was black with bruises which caused him to wince every time he swallowed. Sherlock only had eyes for John, an arm hovering behind him in case he fell again.

'Sherlock this is...' 

'Alice?' Sherlock moved to closer to John so he good actually see the body in the bed. John looked between her and the lanky man now basically climbing over his shoulder to get closer. 

'You know her?' 

'He's my godfather.' That made John's eyes bulge. Sherlock ignored him.

'Alice what're you doing here?' 

'I might ask you the same thing. Thanks for not telling mum it was a hoax because that didn't crush her at all.' He looked sheepish. 

'How's he your godfather?' She looked at Sherlock to explain, feeling suddenly very tired. 

'I met her mum, Yvonne, at Keble college when I almost overdosed. She took care of me while I recovered. That was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me. She's two year older, studying english and had a boyfriend, Theo, studying maths in Keble as well, later became her husband. They were both my very dear friends. I got expelled because of that little escapade- probably Mycroft's doing. That same year both of them dropped out, she did because her mum died and he did because his mum needed him to get a job.' John was in awe at the prospect of Sherlock having other friends. The slowed breath indicated that Alice was now asleep in the middle of the bed. Sherlock looked at her.  
'They travelled with me to London to visit my brother and to get me into rehab. It wasn't really Lestrade's offer, it was the prospect of my closest friends having a child. They had Lucy when I was eighteen and still in rehab. One year later I was clean and out and they were having another child- Alice. When she was born they made me godfather in celebration for my one year sobriety. They had two more children, one the next year called Heather and the other six years later called Rose. Don't tell her, but Alice is my favourite.' His voice was quite emotional, something that John had only experienced a handful of times. John's gaze lingers on Alice's frail form, pale against the sheets her arms wrapped in bandages.  
'She was always brilliant, even to me, quite possibly smarter than me. She had adored chemistry since she was old enough to read, so I taught her. I taught her the science of deduction and the a level chemistry course and Oxford's chemistry course and she listened and actually picked it up. She's the reason I was sober up until I met you. I kept in contact with her family, we occasionally went out for meals together. But then I met you and I didn't need to depend on the family anymore. I never cut ties but I stopped meeting with them as regularly, then I fell and I couldn't risk showing Moriarty that they existed.' They sat in a comfortable silence for a short while until something occurred to John.

'Have you been keeping tabs on her?' He shook his head. Ah yes too risky. 'Well she got accepted into Keble college and finished about a year ago after two years of study, top of the year.' Sherlock steepled his fingers and looked to her.

'That's my girl.' It was barely a whisper but he looked proud. Silence surrounded them yet again, allowing John to fall into a light sleep, with Sherlock watching over the two people he cared about most.

'Sher-lock.' Alice's quiet voice drew the detective out of his mind. He held a drink for her to sip at. 

'What happened?' His grey eyes searched hers, now devoid of glasses. She understands what he means.

'It was after I came back from uni, a woman was being attacked by three men. I-I couldn't let then hurt her so I intervened, killed them. It was self defence. But I didn't see the tattoos. They're a Russian gang- one set in London apparently they've been terrorising the government. They just hopped onto the first train from London they found and it took them to my home, it was an accident. They kidnapped my family, everyone, my granny and grandad, every last cousin. Then they tortured and killed them while I was tied up opposite them.' Her voice faltered. 'But then they got to Rose and... And I couldn't. Not her.' A tear rolled down her cheek, Sherlock sat in quietly letting her regain control.  
'I broke free and killed the four men that were in the room with me and my sister. She's in the children's ward here I believe. So Mycroft took me into witness protection, told me you were still alive and now my legal guardian and put me with John. I made sure he was ok for you when you got back. You deserve a good friend like John. He wasn't eating or sleeping, so I fed him up and gave him sleeping pills. He seems healthier now and a lot more relaxed that you're back.' Sherlock glanced at John and could see the remnants of sleepless nights under his eyes and the malnourishment in his face. He nodded in agreement.  
'When they attacked John I decided it was time to end it. It didn't matter if I survived, you'd have John and I know that Rose will never really recover, the odds of her regaining consciousness was 12% last time I saw her.' Sherlock wished he hadn't fed her brain with analytical thinking, she was a free spirit and could've done anything.  
'Don't think that, I wouldn't want to be anything but what I am now. Sherlock, I haven't scattered the ashes. Would you like to join me when I do?' He nodded slowly, a smile gracing his thin lips. They sat watching one another, Sherlock having retrieved Alice's glasses and pushed them up the bridge of her nose.

-

It was another three weeks before Alice was discharged, almost all of her wounds fully healed. Sherlock had moved back into the flat and Alice was now downstairs. The bruises on John's neck had fade to a light green.

John was now in charge of food, almost force feeding the geniuses on a semi-regular basis. Alice helped with Sherlock, guilt tripping him into taking another bite of toast or whatever other food had been placed in front of him. John tried his best to feed Alice but she had a great dislike for many foods and was slowly falling apart. She refused to visit a psychiatrist, they just tried to label her- asperges, depression, so many labels and yet none of them were true. Alice wasn't just one thing, she was complex as John had come to learn. She was almost a perfect blend of Sherlock and himself (strangely)- she was highly intelligent with a cold mind when the time called for it, but she was in touch with her emotions, compassionate and kind. She was intriguing to say the least.  
He was ripped from this thought by the materialisation of Mycroft. 

'No.' Alice stopped looking at the microscope, standing next to the table. 'Please. She only woke up last week.' Her knees buckled as she collapsed against the table. 'Not her.' Mycroft stood still in the doorway, a pained look on his face as his younger brother gathering the girl in his arms.

'I'm so sorry.' It was all he could manage. Her face fell, tears rolling down her cheeks. But as fast as her heart broke she hid it away, her face a mask of indifference. 

'May I see her, before the funeral I mean.' He nodded it would be the same proceedings as before, unadvertised and a quiet affair, only her closest friends stood before the coffin. She followed him out the door.

Sherlock looked rough, clearly those three years had broken his indifference. He couldn't hide his emotions anymore and the death of the ten year old girl was eating away at him. 

'Sherlock, I'm sorry.' Sherlock grabbed John and hugged him fiercely.

'I'm so sorry I left. Please don't leave me.' John hugged back and shook his head against the solid shoulder in front of him. John, ever the soldier, steeled himself before dragging the detective to the hospital morgue. 

-

The funeral was a small event, just Alice, some of her friends and the Holmes brothers. John was invited but he didn't know the girl and felt it was imposing.  
Back at the flat, Sherlock played the violin, accompanied by one of Alice's friends on keyboard. It was quite an upbeat piece, fast pace and it soon had Alice smiling. Mrs Hudson appeared not long after, hugging Alice in a motherly way.

'Mrs Hudson, I want to start paying for the flat downstairs, 221C.'

'Oh nonsense child, you don't have to.'

'But I want to, I'm the soul receiver of more money than I will ever need in my life, especially if people start giving stuff away to me. So please, let me pay for the rent and restoration.' She nodded in agreement and proceeded to hug Alice again, tighter if that was humanly possible.  
It was calm and the most homely 221B had ever felt to John. Sherlock was home and well, he had a new friend in Alice, it was almost a family.  
Sherlock extracted the violin from under his chin and to the shock of all those in the room handed it to Alice who quickly picked up an eerie tune. The Danse Macabre. Her fingers danced across the strings as the notes echoed around the room. Everyone was intently watching her as she swayed in her black dress. 

'Quite a fitting song don't you think.' It was Sherlock who broke the spell.  
'The Danse Macabre. I see you've been practising it, much better.' Alice picked it up again and continued to work through the long song and the silence remained right up until the final note was drawn from the strings. 

Yes, John could get used to this, his genius was back and a new genius had been given to him. This was his family now and he would make sure that Alice understood that.


End file.
